Reluctant Heart
by MyImmortal329
Summary: Carol Mason and Daryl Dixon meet in the unlikeliest of places when an early arrival and an unexpected death bring their worlds colliding together.


Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead.

Reluctant Heart

Chapter 1

Having a baby was supposed to be one of the most beautiful, happy times of a person's life. She'd read all the baby books, she'd prepared herself mentally for labor and childbirth, and she'd even done yoga just about every day to keep herself in good shape and health for the little life she'd carried inside of her. Still, nothing had prepared her for delivering at thirty weeks.

Carol Mason was exhausted. In the last forty-eight hours, she'd slept maybe an hour, and since giving birth, she'd insisted on being at her newborn baby's bedside. She was tiny, just under three pounds, and she looked so helpless lying there in the incubator with little tubes and wires all over her. She was healthy, the doctor said, and she was strong, but Carol wasn't sure if it was her own exhaustion or her hormones talking, but she had been an emotional wreck since delivering, and she was terrified. She'd been wracking her brain, trying to figure out if she could have done something differently. The doctors had assured her that it was nothing that occurred because something she did or didn't do. There was nothing she could have done to stop this from happening.

Carol took comfort in the fact that her little one wasn't nearly as tiny as some of the other babies in the NICU. Still, she was early, and the nurses kept throwing out terrifying words that Carol didn't understand, but the good thing was that she wasn't on a respirator, and the nurses were hopeful that she'd be going home within five to six weeks. Five to six weeks felt like a lifetime when there was already a decorated nursery at home. She expected to be bringing home a newborn, not sitting vigil and watching her daughter struggle because she was born too soon.

"She's doing great," a soft-spoken nurse murmured, gently touching Carol on the shoulder. "She's breathing on her own, and she's already had a diaper change. Kidneys and bowels are working great. That's an awesome sign."

"She's so tiny," Carol murmured, tears welling in her eyes.

"Can I let you in on something?" Carol nodded. "She's ten weeks premature. We've had babies born fifteen to eighteen weeks premature here, and you know what? We've seen many of them pull through just fine." Carol took comfort in that and gave the nurse a thankful smile. "Is there someone we can call for you? Your husband?"

"I'm not married," Carol said quietly. "And there's no one. Not anymore." The nurse gave her a sympathetic look, and Carol shook her head. "No, it's for the best, I promise."

"Well, would you like me to get you back to your room so you can rest?"

"I'd like to stay a little longer, if you don't mind," Carol replied softly, turning back to look at her baby girl's sleeping form.

"Of course. Take your time," the nurse said with a nod. "Have you thought of a name?"

"I…I haven't," Carol said quietly. "I mean, I had a few picked out, but she doesn't really look like any of the names I wanted. Is that…is that bad?"

"Not at all," the nurse said softly. "You want to give her a good name. You'll find one. If you'd like, we've got plenty of baby books for you to read through."

"Thank you," Carol said with a smile, running her fingers through her dark, auburn hair that had long since fallen from the loose, messy bun she'd had it tied up into. "I meant to ask…there's so many tubes." The nurse nodded as if knowing exactly what Carol needed to hear.

"The little yellow one for her nose is to help her eat. We'll have to work with her on the bottle." Carol nodded. "She's got an IV to keep her hydrated. Most of this is just for the oxygen. It's a lot of tubes, and I know it looks scary, but she's really doing great."

"Yeah?" Carol asked softly, reaching her hand into the incubator. She gently ran her finger over her baby's tiny hand. "She's warm."

"She's controlling her body temperature pretty well. The doctors are really optimistic that she's going to pull through this without any deficits." Carol felt a weight lift off of her shoulders then, and she put her free hand over her mouth to choke back a sob. The nurse gently squeezed Carol's shoulder, and she smiled.

"If I could just hold her…" She blinked back a few tears, and the nurse gave her a sympathetic smile.

"I know," the nurse murmured. "I'll talk to Dr. Greene, but he's very particular about his patients. He wants to run a few more tests. We need to make sure her immune system is strong enough."

"I know," Carol whispered, blinking back tears. "I just…I want her to know I'm here."

"She knows," the woman said softly. "I'm Lori, and I've been working NICU for the past six years. I'm going to personally make sure that your little girl never feels alone while I'm here. I'm a mama myself, and I know what it's like to worry. My youngest, Judy, she was early, and she spent time in this same NICU. She's four now, and she's running and playing and giving her big brother headaches." Carol let out a soft laugh at that. Oh, it felt good to have some levity.

"Thank you so much," Carol said softly. "She'll be ok. She's gonna be fine." She was determined. Since the moment she'd found out she was pregnant, she'd been terrified and excited at the same time, and above everything else, she was had felt so much love for the tiny life she'd carried inside of her, even if it hadn't been planned.

Something buzzed at Lori's hip, and she picked up her pager.

"Excuse me for a second." Carol nodded and watched her go off toward the phone by the door. She picked it up and dialed, and she sighed heavily, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. After a few more moments, she hung up and walked back over toward Carol's rocking chair.

"Is everything ok?"

"Nothing for you to worry about," she assured her. "We've got another little one coming in. Poor little thing."

"Oh," Carol said softly. "Do I need to…"

"You're just fine right where you are. We've had this place more crowded than this before. We'll make it work." Lori began to push unused monitors to the side and make space for the 'preemie team' as Grady Memorial called it. Carol had first heard them say it when she'd gone into labor, and it had all gone so fast that the doctor had barely gotten his gloves on before the baby came, and she'd only gotten to hear her tiny cries for a moment before she was being rushed away by a whole crowd of people in lavender scrubs.

Carol turned her attention back to her little girl. She sighed softly and reached in to stroke her tiny hand again.

"Happy birthday, baby girl. I promise I'll find a name for you." She put her other hand against the side of the enclosure, and her lower lip trembled. "I promise."

Moments later, the NICU doors opened, and a couple of nurses followed by one of the kind doctors who had checked in on her baby earlier came wheeling an incubator.

"How's the patient?" Lori asked, stepping around one of the other beds toward the new arrival.

"I'd say 40/60," the doctor said grimly. "Looks like we've got a fighter though." Carol watched with a heavy heart as the monitors started to beep and the team worked carefully to make certain the baby was stable. She could hear the hiss of the respirator as it pumped oxygen into the tiny baby's lungs, and she fought back the urge to cry.

"We've got you," Lori said softly, gently tapping on the top of the incubator. "You're in good hands, little one."

The room cleared out after a few minutes, and Lori jotted a few things down in a chart. She stuck it in the slot on the wall next to the incubator before filling out something with black marker. On the wall above the incubator she taped a blue and yellow sign that said Baby Boy Dixon 1 lb. 8 oz.

"His mother must be so worried," Carol murmured as Lori passed by.

"That's the heartbreaker," Lori said softly. "This little guy's all alone." She shook her head and took a shaky breath. "This one probably would have been fine, but some idiot out there decided to drink and drive tonight and plowed into the daddy's pickup truck. Daddy died en route, and the mama didn't make it out of the OR."

"Oh my God," Carol murmured, placing her hand over her mouth. "That's awful. He doesn't have anybody?"

"He's got us," Lori said with a little nod. "And an Uncle, apparently. They're trying to reach him, but if you ask me, this little guy is gonna need all the love in the world to pull through this."

"You don't think he'll make it?"

"Like I said, some babies pull through. There are miracles. He's early, but he's fighting." She caught the tears in Carol's eyes, and she shook her head. "Nope. Don't do that. You have to be strong for your little one. She needs you."

"He needs someone, too," Carol murmured, letting the events of the day finally take their toll on her. Her shoulders trembled, and Lori handed her a box of tissues.

"It's ok," she said softly. "Your girl is lucky. I've seen parents sit where you're sitting right now, and they look so defeated. I've seen one or even both parents practically abandon their babies until the news is better, until the baby's ready to come home. I've never understood it, myself. I might be desensitized to a lot of it, but I was in your place once, and I know it's hard to see your baby fighting like that. I know it's hard to see other babies that might not make it. This little guy over here? He's got a chance. But he's gonna have to fight."

"I don't know how you do it," Carol sniffled, wiping at her eyes with a tissue.

"Somebody has to. Not every kid is lucky enough to have somebody in their corner like yours has. That's the sad truth." Carol nodded then, wiping her eyes again. "Hey, you never know? This Uncle might be exactly what this kid needs."

...

Carol must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, a monitor was beeping frantically. She opened her eyes just as the alarm was silenced, and she leaned forward to check on her baby. The little one looked fine, and Carol let out a sigh of relief. She glanced over to Baby Dixon's incubator, and nobody was hovering there, either. Instead, one of the babies in the far corner was being swarmed by nurses that seemed to have come out of nowhere. A doctor in a white coat came rushing in, and she kept hearing words like 'pneumothorax' and 'pleural effusion,' and she didn't know what they meant, but it scared the hell out of her, and it wasn't even her kid.

Before long, the baby must have stabilized, because the commotion died down, and everybody went back to what they were doing before.

"We need to get you back to your room," Lori finally announced, wheeling over a chair.

"Can't I stay a little longer?"

"You're dead on your feet. You need to rest. She needs you to rest." Carol glanced at her daughter before reluctantly standing with Lori's help. She winced in pain as the hours of sitting took their toll on her back and legs. But just as Carol lowered herself down into the chair, Lori looked up toward the doors and hesitated for a moment. "I'll be right back. Sit tight." Carol watched as the nurse walked to the doors and met a doctor, a woman that looked exhausted and far too dressed up for the middle of the night, and a man with shaggy hair and a five o'clock shadow. Carol pegged the tired woman for a social worker, and she assumed the man was here for the orphaned baby.

After a quiet exchange in which paperwork was handed to Lori, she stepped back and let the man in. He was dressed in ripped jeans and a black t-shirt, and he looked like an anxious first time father with terror and confusion in his eyes.

"Mr. Dixon, let's get you into a gown so you can see your nephew."

"It's Daryl," he muttered as he let another nurse put gloves on his hands.

"Daryl," Lori said with a nod. "I'm very sorry about what happened."

"Yeah," he said numbly. "Thanks. Which one's him?" Lori finished tying to robe behind him and motioned toward the incubator. Carol watched curiously as the two walked across the unit and stopped at Baby Dixon's bed.

"Christ, what's all them tubes comin' out of him?" Carol could see the way his shoulders shook as his breath hitched in his chest.

"He's on a respirator to help him breathe. We're giving him steroids for his lungs, but he's very early, Mr. Dixon."

"He ain't gonna die." It wasn't a question. His fists clenched at his sides.

"The next 48 hours are critical," Lori said quietly. "And I think you need to prepare yourself."

"He ain't gonna die. Not him," Daryl said firmly with a shake of his head.

"Would you like to sit with him?" Lori asked. "I can bring in a chair."

"I can't. I just…I gotta…I got a funeral to plan." He cleared his throat. Carol felt a lump grow in her throat as she watched him take a step backward.

"Mr. Dixon, there's a lot they're going to have to discuss with you about his care. You have to consent to procedures if—"

"What kinda procedures?" He asked, cutting her off.

"Your nephew was born at twenty-six weeks. There are any number of things that could—" Daryl took another step back, and he nearly stepped right into Carol's wheelchair. She held a hand out, touching his back, and he turned quickly.

"M'sorry, ma'am," he said quickly before he turned back to Lori. "Look, you gotta understand. I ain't seen my brother in ten years, and I didn't even know his girlfriend. Wife. Whatever she was to him. I didn't know 'bout this kid 'til just now, and now they're tellin' me he's gonna be put in the system if I can't take responsibility for him."

"I understand that it's a lot of pressure."

"You don't understand shit," he growled. "This ain't my kid. I can't make those decisions."

"You're the only one he has, Mr. Dixon." Daryl blinked a few times, wiping his gloved hand over his forehead and pushing his hair back. "You don't want to put your nephew's life into somebody else's care. Believe me. You want to be the one to make the decisions. Even the hard ones. Because if you don't and something happens to him? Trust me. You will _never_ let yourself forget that."

"I can't," Daryl said, shaking his head. "I gotta go." Carol watched as Lori folded her arms across her chest and said nothing. "You gonna let me outta here?"

"I'll let you out," Lori said with a nod, walking him toward the door. "But I hope for both of your sakes that you come back tomorrow, because like it or not, that kid's your blood, and you're all he's got." Daryl chewed his lip for a moment before he started pulling off the gown. And for a moment, just for a moment, Carol swore she could see the tears in his eyes before he turned away. She didn't even know this man, but her heart went out to him. She was overwhelmed enough as it was, and she couldn't imagine what must be going through this man's head. He learns that his brother's dead, that he's an uncle and that he's the only hope this kid has all in one day? She was amazed he was even still standing. And as he walked away, she said a silent prayer to whatever force might be listening to look out for that tiny baby and his uncle, because it seemed to her that they were both going to need each other.

She glanced back at her baby girl's incubator, and she placed her hand against the glass.

"I love you, sweet girl. I hope you know that I'll always be here," she whispered, before Lori returned to wheel her away.


End file.
